Jinadh left on the same train as Rinko, to be back in the city for work. Lillian remained behind, unenthusiastic at the prospect of the city: election rallies, Catwalk graffiti, more threatening letters like the one that had been pushed through the slot last time she was at Coral Street. The Telegraph had run a front-page story after it came out that she’d been sacked, printing a photo of her from the gala at the MBS opposite a much older photo of Cyril, in which he was still handsome and slyly smiling. Nobody had managed to get a more recent one. She might have been grateful for that, as it meant he would be harder to spot on the street. Except the spread made them both look haughty and cruel: people who ought to be punished. After it went to print, she felt eyes on her wherever she stepped outside.

So she holed up in the library at Damesfort to quiz Stephen about his reading, when he wasn’t running around in the woods with Cyril, tearing holes in his clothes and tangling his hair. He was not an eager pupil, and on this particular afternoon they were very near doing one another physical harm.

Magnusson saved her with news that she had a telephone call. When he told her who it was, she set aside the book she had been holding, though she knew Stephen would take any out he could find. “Mr. Qassan? Did he say what was the matter?”

“No, ma’am. Will you take it?”

“Yes, of course. Stephen—” He was already on his feet when she held out the book to him. “—Finish your reading for the week.”

He slumped, and snatched it out of her hand with a sigh.

“I’ll take it in my office,” she said. “Thank you.”

It was colder upstairs, but more private than the hall. The receiver felt clammy on her face.

“Mr. Qassan?” she asked, and heard Magnusson hang up. «This pleasure is unexpected.» Perhaps irrationally, given their slim association, she liked the young man: He was competent and quiet and kept himself to himself. And he had made Jinadh smile, during the course of their Solstice celebrations.

«I had hoped to reach Mr. Addas,» he said, «but your majordomo tells me he’s in the city.»

«Yes. Did you ring the house on Coral Street?»

«I tried here first.»

«Do you have the exchange?» She gave it to him.

«Thank you,» he said, but did not excuse himself or hang up.

«Was there something else?» she asked, tucking her free hand between her thighs to warm it. Up here, her breath made mist.

«I’m worried,» he said.

That made two of them. «About?»

«Aristide. He’s … he’s up to something, I think.»

The cold that crept through her veins had little to do with winter. «I do not doubt he is.»